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Moving from a rural farming community to a suburb replete with conveniences like a coffee shop within walking distance and mass transit easily accessible, I am amazed when after nine months, I still have not met a single neighbor in my apartment complex. A large enough complex with seven buildings, a common area, a pool, and a fitness center, and still no one speaks. Head nods are the equivalent of hello. Averted eyes are the accustomed signal ~ do not disturb. When circumstances gave me options of where I would move when leaving the farming community, I chose what I thought was a well balanced suburb of a major city. Where jobs would be more readily available, and people would be gregarious and accessible. Boy, was I ever wrong. Don’t get me wrong, it is a nice suburb. It is verdant, clean, has a low crime rate, and unemployment is low. I can walk for hours around the area and see nice homes, and good schools. There just isn’t any neighborliness in my small piece of this town. Not even one person to grumble a hello my way. Being single here is rough when no one will acknowledge that you exist. Being single and fifty ~ even worse. I am surrounded by busy young people with busy lives, too busy to notice one of the older set. On the other hand, my muse loves the weather…

The only plus of moving here thus far, has been writing. I write, and write. I write everyday; snippets and paragraphs, pages and volumes. Some days the words do not stop. The steady stream pours over the keyboard like oil over water, spreading to cover the surface. Other days the words come in short spurts, sprinting breathless to the finish line. But write I must. Staring at a blank page on the laptop or desktop with nothing coming from my heart and mind through my fingers, is extremely painful. So, I write. Starting with a disjointed thought, followed by a favorite word. This goes on until I pause, and look out my window to the empty parking lot, and up at windows covered with mini-blinds that do not seem to open to the world outside. At those times I wonder why I chose this place, in this town.

Today is such a day. Writing about it brings it all back to the surface. The choice to leave one state for another. One lifestyle for another. All the choices made to bring me to this alien world of silent occupants.

My lease will be up soon and I don’t think I’ll re-sign or stay. I can go anywhere as I am still underemployed, but where to go? Back to a small town with some of the pitfalls of small town living including high unemployment, or try to get closer to the metropolis and hope to be noticed in a crowd. I know there must be a middle ground somewhere. Rural, suburban, urban. Two down, one to go.

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Day One through Six were stressful days, full of emotion and anxiety. On Day Seven, after I dug into my savings to buy some groceries, I decided I would take pictures of the first real meal in a long week. Back to veggies and a little protein ~ and no carbs…for now.

The meal consisted of a Fennel and Beet Salad, Steamed Broccoli, and Crushed Peppercorn Encrusted Sirloin. Even the prep was fun. I took my time and documented the process of making the salad. I live alone and cooking for one, though not as exciting as having company, is still something I like to do. This meal is the perfect size for one. Here are the ingredients and their proportions for the Fennel and Beet Salad:

Fennel and Beet Salad:
30 grams or ⅓ cup thin sliced fennel
30 grams or ⅓ cup of cooked and cooled beets
18 grams or ¼ cup thin sliced red onion
1 small blood orange or minneola tangelo, or other small navel orange, peel and pith removed (you can cut up large pieces into bite sized if you like)

Mix salad ingredients together in a bowl. Whisk dressing ingredients together to form vinaigrette and pour over salad ingredients. Mix ingredients to coat. Plate on a separate salad plate and serve, or serve with beef or chicken. You could serve this with fish too, if you like, by substituting the red beets for golden beets. The golden beets are milder and less sweet, and pair well with fish.

The salad paired with four ounces of pepper crusted sirloin, one cup of steamed broccoli, and a small glass of red wine. No, I didn’t use the fancy napkin, but it did look nice on the table.

The shopping trip was Saturday. The meal was Sunday. The long week now over, was most certainly a test, but I don’t know if I passed or failed. I don’t think I fully understood the rules. All I do know, is writing and eating nothing but carbs, does not a happy me make. I have learned many lessons these past nine months, that I am sure others of the legion of underemployed have learned as well. We can’t give up hope, and we can’t give into despair. Perhaps next time the unexpected happens, I may be more prepared. At least I know now who I can call for a good kick in the motivation muscle. Thank you KPF.

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Sadly the link to the free read is no longer up for your convenience. Let me explain.

Authors use the internet for many things. To do research on a story. To offer excerpts to entice a reader to read more of their work. We even use the internet to promote ourselves. One way we do that is to offer free reads. We do it on lot’s of sites. Goodreads, All Romance eBooks, Rainbow eBooks, Barnes & Noble, and even Amazon. We do it so that you, kind reader, will discover our work and perhaps purchase one of our other books. This is all well and good, and it is usually a win/win situation. Alas, that is not always the case.

This Monday, June 18th 2012, a person claiming to be a publisher (self or otherwise), pirated several free reads from M/M authors and F/F authors who just happen to be posting free reads for the summer reading events. We post them on the sites we belong to, like Goodreads, and we post them for our followers on our blogs. The despicable person, who shall remain nameless unless he/she/it continues to do this, stole those free downloads and uploaded then on Amazon with the intent on making money off of them. He/she/it did not even bother to remove the names of the authors from the front of the book covers, nor did he/she/it attempt to hide the fact that those books all had disclaimers regarding infringement rights. He/she/it clearly pirated…stole…ripped off those books.

I will still offer my book to you if you are interested in reading it, but you will have to get the free read at either Goodreads, All Romance eBooks, or Rainbow eBooks. I have linked each of these sites for you. Again the title is A Pharaoh’s Promise, by GL Roberts. I hope you will check it out.

Gentle reminder: this story is about a romance between two men, and may be considered NC17.

A Pharaoh’s Promise is the story of the love between a Pharaoh of the Hyksos Dynasty, and the slave that carves and paints his image on the walls and obelisks of Lower and Upper Egypt. It was originally released on Goodreads for the M/M Romance group’s Love is Always Write event.

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I woke knowing what I had to do. During our chat, my friend had posed a solution, and realizing that if I did not take the advice, I would spend another day sobbing and eating poorly, not writing, and sleeping far too much. I microwave scrambled and egg, slapped it on toast, then gulped down a large glass of water, and headed for the shower.

I got dressed to go out, but before leaving the apartment, I went to the fridge and tossed all the things that were depressing me and making me sick. The rest of the browning avocado, the last of the canned tomatoes. The cream cheese, that by now was growing its own penicillin farm, and the last of the spelt bread that was really rock hard. The fish was still frozen so it stayed. The remaining bit of soup was still good and I found I could not toss it out. The last tortilla was pretty brittle so I tossed that too.

Then I got on line and went to my banking site and transferred money from my savings to my checking.

I know, you are thinking, why didn’t I do that in the beginning. For a couple of good reasons, well, to me anyway: One, I am single, living on a fixed income and my savings is my only lifeline between me and living in my car. I hold every single cent in that account as precious, and it should never be touched. Two, I’m stubborn. I knew that I could sustain myself on what was in my apartment. I hated to think I was going to capitulate and break into my savings, just for food money. It irked me to no end. All along I knew I had the $21.00 in my wallet, and I could have, should have gone out an purchased some vegetables. I didn’t though and looking back, I believe I had gotten caught up in my own stubbornness. Seriously stressed and not thinking right contributed in no small way.

I did finally capitulate, and I transferred a small amount into my checking from my savings. I then made a list of items I would buy to complement the food I still had in the refrigerator and pantry.

Grocery shopping under such circumstances could have been disastrous, so I vowed not to deviate from the the list. If I added anything, it would be a vegetable or fruit that was in season. No pasta, no bread, period.

I came home with a satisfied feeling. I had spent my money on vegetables, fruit, almond milk for my cereal, and more fish. I hauled the loot up the stairs and into my apartment and then sent a quick email to my friend, stating that the mission to re-stock was accomplished with a minimum of stress and anxiety. I knew I could replace the money I took from my savings, it was only a matter of time. I hummed as I put the groceries away, munching on an apple while doing so. I brewed another batch of tea for the pitcher, and then settled down in front of my laptop to see what had happened to my story while I was away.

I had managed to get all the groceries on my list, with only one addition, strawberries. They would be great on top of my shredded wheat.

* * *

Depression whether brought on by outside sources, or internal demons, is not something that should be taken lightly. I am lucky that I have good friends and family that keep in touch. Having them to discuss the ups and downs of being single, on a fixed income, and living a very long distance away, has made all the difference. I owe them much, especially a dear friend of mine who never lets me stew over anything. Persistence is that friend’s middle name I am certain.

GL Roberts is the author of Scar Tissue, a M/M Romance novella published by Seventh Window Publications. GL has also written a short story for the Goodreads M/M Romance Group Love is Always Write event titled A Pharaoh’s Promise, which is a FREE READ on the Goodreads site. The work discussed in this posting is titled Target Acquired and is currently out looking for a publisher. A second novella Light and Shadow is due out late summer from Seventh Window Publications.

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After eleven hours of sleep, I was not only feeling very lethargic but I was ill. The meal issues, the money issues, the writing, all of it left me exhausted. I couldn’t function. My friend, whom I try to chat with daily, was concerned. I had clammed up. I wasn’t my usual chatty self. That triggered a flood of emotions that even the Three Gorges Dam could not hold. I cried. I cried upon waking and reading my friend’s concern in an email. I cried as I dressed. I cried as I moved my laptop from the bedroom to the living room where I worked on my manuscripts. I cried as I looked at the refrigerator. I had no idea what was happening, but I cried regardless.

I did eat breakfast. A hard boiled egg. I choked it down between sobs. I made a cup of Earl Grey tea and sat down in the living room trying to cope with the massive emotional meltdown. Really, I was not eating much less than normal, and granted, I was used to a much greener diet, but to have this incredible gut wrenching mass of emotions was just not right. I tried to write. What I did write was tripe. I deleted everything I typed. I then did something I rarely did. I lay down on the floor with a pillow from the couch, put my back against the couch, and fell asleep. After eleven hours of sleep the previous night, I shouldn’t have been tired. I was exhausted and I had no recourse but to sleep it out.

When I woke, it was late afternoon. My stomach was growling and so I made another dish of pasta. This time adding an egg yolk to the dish of linguini, fire roasted tomatoes, tomato paste, onions, and garlic. I ate it all, then went to my bedroom and turned on my laptop. I watched old reruns of Night Gallery until it was time to chat with my friend. That was a bad night. I cried nearly non-stop and felt so bad about putting my friend in the position of having to try to make sense of the words that came out between the sobs.

I went to sleep right after our chat. I slept straight through again waking after nearly nine hours of sleep. This was not good and something had to be done.

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I awoke with what felt like a rock in my stomach. I could not decide if the food I was eating was causing the ache, or if I was just anxious over not having the money for groceries just yet. Stress can be so debilitating and if it causes you to eat poorly, it can be a killer. Luckily, I usually eat much better than this and my resolve to eat right will carry me through this situation. It was one of the reasons I was so diligent in making sure I stuck to the right portion sizes. How easy it would have been to make twice as much pasta, or have a full two slices of bread for a sandwich, but I didn’t need it. My body does not need that much fuel. It would be like putting petrol in a Ferrari and watching the toxic liquid spill over the sides and ruin the paint job. No, I only need so much at a time. That, I was sure, was going to keep me from making the rest of the week a food nightmare.

Breakfast was the last of the grapefruit, a microwaved egg on top of a slice of toasted spelt bread. As you can see, I have avoided all cheese. The gouda and the cream cheese sit in the refrigerator awaiting their turn to be consumed. Not on your life little gooey bits of goodness, not until the inner workings start working. A cup of tea and a big glass of water accompanied the breakfast fare.

Today’s writing was all about the characters. Giving them a back story, a history. I like to interject bits of history into my stories. It is what I do best. Little factoids that help the reader get into the story. With my first short story, a M/M romance novella titled Scar Tissue, the story takes place in Washington D.C. and the year is 1976. I had a great muscle car in the story, and the descriptives helped place the characters in that time, replete with rotary dial telephones, and loud clothing. For this current work, the time was contemporary, but the characters needed a history. Day Four would be spent giving them a past.

Lunch today was another choice. I really did need to finish the precooked vegetables as they were not frozen after cooking and I DID NOT want them to go to waste. Then again, the avocado was turning a little brown even with the lemon juice I used to keep if from doing just that. I decided on the avocado. I spread avocado on another slice of bread, this time realizing I had eaten more bread in four days then I had in the previous four weeks. Paired it with water and went back to writing.

Supper approached and I was not really hungry, or so I thought. I didn’t feel hungry. I had plenty of water during the day and was frequenting the bathroom regularly. I should be hungry. I plated the last of the vegetables and sat down with a small glass of red wine. This time I skipped the water.

As I started to eat the vegetables, something kicked in. I was ravenous. I devoured the vegetables and headed for the fridge to see what else I could snag. Nothing appealed to me, so I opened the cupboard and took out the can of soup. I heated the soup and doled out the right portion (half a cup), then sat down to finish my meal. The soup was a mistake. I should have had more water instead of the soup. I felt bloated again, and very uncomfortable. I took myself to bed and slept 11 hours. That is not normal for me, at all. My usual sleeping pattern is six to seven hours. Any more and I am groggy. Eleven hours was not a good thing.